


Up Close

by erebones



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Rimming, Roommates, Smut, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 21:19:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6025357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/pseuds/erebones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felix and Carver have been best friends since uni, and they've been in love for just as long, but it takes them until this particular Valentine's Day to admit it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up Close

**Author's Note:**

> a day-after-Valentine's Day feVer ficlet! Basically 15 pages of porn. Enjoy!

“There must be something wrong with me.” 

Felix closes his eyes briefly and leans against the counter. The world isn’t spinning anymore, but the raw feeling in Carver’s voice is heavy on his shoulders, almost a palpable weight. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he says, and jumps when Carver slams a hand into the wall.

“ _Don’t_ say that to me. I’m not being flippant. Do you know how much it costs me to admit it, to _you_ of all people?”

“Of all people? What does that mean?” He fumbles for glasses and the water filter, suddenly intent on flushing the alcohol from their systems. Carver collapses on a stool and puts his head in his hands. 

“I don’t know how you do it. It’s like they just... flock to you. And I’m trying so hard, fucking _pushing_ myself like I never do and they just ignore me. Is it my looks? Am I ugly and no one’s ever told me?”

“You’re not ugly,” Felix says quietly. He takes Carver’s hands and wrap them around a glass of water, silently relieved when he drinks without asking questions. “You’re incredibly attractive, actually.”

“Thanks,” Carver sighs. _He doesn’t believe me_.

“I’m not just saying that because I’m your best mate, Carv.”

“Sure. I’m just trying to figure out—I mean, you’re gorgeous, so I can see why they would kind of use me to transition to you, but… no one? At all? Is it my personality—something I said? Some expression that puts people off?”

Felix doesn’t know how to answer. He feels helpless—not least because his view of things is slightly skewed. He’s always known Carver was gorgeous, even when he thought of him as standoffish and reclusive, and it hadn’t stopped them becoming friends. But Felix is naturally friendly, effusive, able to get past a near-stranger’s brittle façade without too much effort. Carver isn’t like that. Carver is too big for his body sometimes, too slow or too quick to smile, saying not quite the right thing at exactly the wrong time. It’s a peculiar, awkward gift—or curse—but he can’t say any of that out loud. Not to him. Not _tonight_. Carver is asking what’s wrong with him, but Felix can’t answer even if he knows, logically, why Carver has such a hard time flirting—he looks at Carver and sees the man he’s desperately, silently in love with, and none of those shallow concerns seem to matter. 

Of course, they’re not shallow to Carver. “I’m sorry,” he says, putting an arm around his broad, slumped shoulders. “I don’t know what to say.”

Carver sighs again, melancholy. “When you go off and marry some wonderful girl—or bloke—will you remember to visit sometimes? It’ll get awfully lonely here by myself.”

“Who said anything about getting married?” Felix scoffs, chest twisting. As if he could stand to marry anyone but Carver. “I don’t even have a significant other.”

“Why not?” Carver asks, carelessly enough that Felix knows the real reason hasn’t occurred to him, and probably never will. “There was that nice blonde who had her tongue down your throat a few hours ago. Or the fellow with the dragon tattoo last week that reminded me unsettlingly of my brother.”

“Just because I kiss someone doesn’t mean I want to marry them.”

“Then why _do_ you kiss them?”

Felix shrugs. “It’s fun. It takes my mind off... things.”

“Things?”

“Yes, things.”

“What sort of things?”

Felix sighs. “You’re too drunk for this conversation. Or maybe I’m not drunk enough. Come sit on the couch.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean,” Carver mutters, but he lets Felix push and prod him over to the couch where he sprawls like an untidy cat. He leaves just enough room for Felix to wedge himself into one end, and promptly deposits his head in Fee’s lap for pets. “And I’m not that drunk, anyway.” 

“Hmm.”

There’s a few minutes of blissful silence. Felix runs his fingers through Carver’s fringe and lets the last dregs of alcohol wind out of his system, and Carver mopes. Eventually, he tilts his chin up to look at him and says again, “What things?”

“Believe it or not,” Felix says slowly, “you’re not the only one afraid of being alone forever.”

“That’s stupid,” Carver decides. “You’re wonderful, you draw people in like bees to honey.”

“That doesn’t mean any of them will be the right bee for me.”

“Don’t worry.” Carver gives him a crooked half smile, and Felix’s heart thumps lopsidedly in his chest. “At the very least you’ll always have me.” 

His fingers grow still in Carver’s hair, and his thumb catches a slow rhythm against his temple. “Will I?”

“Of course.” Not even a question. It’s absurd that his eyelids are prickling, but there it is. Carver’s brow crinkles. “Are you all right?”

“How drunk are you?” Felix whispers. The real question: _will you remember any of this in the morning?_

“Not a lot.” Carver burrows deeper into Felix’s lap. “Are you? Drunk?”

“Not really. I wish I was.”

“Why?”

“So that in the morning I wouldn’t remember what a fucking idiot I am.” Felix strokes the arch of Carver’s occipital bone with care, handling the shape of his skull like a priceless piece of china, and watches the way his bone-white lids grow heavy and his eyes darken into midnight blue. Carver grows still in his lap as he bends down, frozen as a statue when their lips finally touch. 

It’s an awful kiss—Felix is too terrified for more than a peck, and the angle is terribly awkward. Carver is like stone beneath him, and he pulls back quickly, face burning. 

“I’m sorry—god, please forget that happened,” he whispers, turning away. He wishes Carver would react somehow, sit up or fall off the couch or _something_ so he could get up and flee to his room, but Carver is a deadweight in his lap, pinning him down like a beetle on a bit of cardstock.

“What the fuck,” Carver finally blurts. He sits up, legs flailing as he tries to right himself, and Felix would be off the couch like a shot except that Carver’s arm gets in a lucky grab and loops itself around his waist before he can even stand up all the way. “Fee, wait, _shit_. You can’t do that and just bolt.”

“Watch me,” Felix says weakly, but he’s not going anywhere like this, not until Carver lets him go. He collapses back onto the couch with a _flump_ and folds his arms protectively across his chest.

“Fee.” Carver doesn’t sound drunk at all anymore. What a miraculous turnaround. He releases Felix’s waist, pinning him instead with a soft touch to the side of his face, feather-light. He may as well have put weights across his legs and told him to stand. Felix glances skittishly to one side. Carver is staring at him with awe written in his face, in the softness of his mouth and the soot-dark smudges of his brows. “Fee,” he says again, gently, “talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say?” Felix whispers.

“Whatever you want. Whatever. I’ll listen.”

He can feel his face crumbling, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. “I’m sorry. I’m so tired of holding it in, I never meant for you to find out this way.”

“Find out what?”

“How I… feel about you.” His hands twist in his lap, and Carver covers them with his own, twining their fingers together. “God, please tell me I’m not the only one making a fool of myself tonight.”

“You aren’t. Or if you are, I can’t be far behind. Always following you into mischief, aren’t I?” Carver says gently. He brings Felix’s hands up, still tangled with his, and smudges a kiss across his knuckles. “Please, Fee. I want you to tell me.”

“I don’t—I don’t know where to start. I don’t know how it began. But I… I think about you all the time, even when we’re in the same room. You’re the most important person in my life, Carv, I don’t know how else to say it.” He feels warm breath on his cheek and then lips against his ear, titillating.

“Tell me you want me.”

“Of course I want you,” Felix whispers. “How can you doubt it?”

`“Tell me you love me.”

He closes his eyes and leans into him, lets himself be pulled into Carver’s orbit. He is enfolded, strong arms around him and firm lips against his forehead, and he would be afraid but for the trembling in Carver’s hands that tells him he’s as terrified as Felix is. “I love you. More than anything.” A spike of courage drills through his hummingbird heartbeat, and he opens his eyes. “Tell me you love me, too.”

“How can you doubt it?” Carver echoes, his smile so sweet and self-conscious that Felix aches to kiss him. He leans forward, just enough that their noses brush.

“Is it all right if I…?”

“God, yes.”

Their second kiss is far better than their first. Carver releases his hands only to cup his face between his palms, one sliding back to grip his nape. Felix is happy to let him. Their mouths open to each other, shallow at first, but he tastes like salt and beer and Felix wants to taste _more_ , and suddenly his fingers are in Carver’s hair and Carver is pressing him back against the arm of the couch to kiss him more deeply. He moans, surprising himself, and hangs on for dear life, letting Carver’s weight bear him down until he’s lying spread-eagled on the couch with Carver’s hand rubbing circles on his chest.

“Can I—”

“Yes,” Felix gasps. “Yes, anything, anything. You don’t have to ask—ah!” He arches into Carver’s touch as his hand comes down, fingers teasing the peak of a nipple through his shirt.

“Good?” Carver murmurs against his lips, and does it again without waiting for confirmation. The thin cotton does little to dampen the sensation, and Felix squirms, feeling the throb of heat between his thighs. He looks down in the narrow space afforded between their bodies, and the unmistakable bulge in his jeans is mirrored in Carver’s.

His head slams back on the pillow as Carver finds the hem of his shirt and yanks, exposing his belly to the cooler air. His palm is quick to follow, warm and calloused, and then the hot wet pressure of Carver’s mouth on his chest. He hisses and squirms again, desperate. Their hips glance off one another, not quite meeting, and the tease is coiling in him like a cord about to snap. With some maneuvering, he’s able to hook his legs around Carver’s waist and _then_ , oh god, he can feel _everything_.

“Are you sure?” Carver rasps, eyes so filled with pupil they’re more black than blue. Felix’s heart is thundering in his ears as he nods, electrified with the feel of Carver’s prick against his even through their clothes.

“I want more. Please.” He trails his fingers down Carver’s cheeks, glancing off his swollen lower lip and down his throat to tug futilely at his shirt. “Please let me see you.”

“Take it off, then. If you can.” Carver grins, reckless, and shifts their hips together. Through two pairs of jeans, the drag is muted but still so good—Felix tightens his thighs and grinds up even as he fumbles with Carver’s shirt.

“I want you naked,” he says petulantly, and Carver laughs and kisses him, already so natural it’s hard to believe they haven’t been kissing one another for years.

“So impatient. You’ve seen me without a shirt before.”

“God, I know, and it was unbearable.” He can remember clearly all the times he’s seen Carver shirtless in the early morning, rubbing sleep from his eyes, or fresh out of the shower with a towel around his waist, or in the heat of summer, flushed pink and gleaming with sweat—they spin before his eyes like a film reel as Carver sits back on his heels and peels his shirt off in one go. Felix’s mouth waters. “Do you know how hard it is to look and not be allowed to touch?”

“You’re allowed—” Carver begins, but Felix cuts him off with a brush of fingers to his navel. His belly contracts slightly, turning shallow definition into sharp lines, and Felix hums.

“I meant before. It was okay to look as long as I didn’t stare, yeah? But you’re so fucking _mouthwatering_ it was all I could do to keep a straight face.”

“You could have touched me and I wouldn’t have minded,” Carver confesses. He braces himself over Felix, broad chest just a foot or so away, every freckle standing starkly visible against his pale skin. “Will you? Touch me?”

Felix does. Careful strokes at first, exploring, a little bit in awe that he’s finally allowed to do this. Carver’s skin is soft and smooth, lightly furred in the center of his chest with hair a few shades paler than the hair on his head. Felix trails his fingers down, following the centerline of his abdomen, and rubs the silky skin right where the waistband of his briefs peeks out from his jeans. “Do the curtains match the drapes?” he teases, plucking at the elastic. Carver arcs his hips forward and Felix lets his hand turn, palm hollowing to cup the bulge in his jeans. He squeezes lightly, testing, and Carver huffs a warm breath against his forehead.

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

His hands might be shaking a bit as he pops the button open and slides the zipper down slowly. He’s wearing plain burgundy boxer briefs, and he’s so hard that Felix can see his cock in clear detail, see the ridge of the corona and the weight of his bollocks underneath. Carver’s breaths quicken, belly twitching. With a sense of finality— _this is the point of no return_ —Felix hooks his finger in the waistband of his pants and pulls down.

Carver, typically Ferelden, doesn’t bother with what he calls “manscaping,” an endless source of teasing whenever Felix takes too long in the shower. But like the hair on his chest, the hair here is sparse and pale, almost gingery against his pale skin. “That’s a no, then,” he says, smirking as he slides his hand around to grip Carver’s arse under his clothes. He exhales a surprised huff of air and rocks forward.

“Nope. I have no idea why—my beard is ginger, or would be if I let it grow. It just looks bizarre.”

He flexes his fingers consideringly, reveling in the firmness of the muscle. “I think it would suit you. But I prefer to kiss men who are clean shaven.”

“Hypocrite,” Carver mutters, smiling into Felix’s jaw. He rubs his mouth back and forth across the neatly-trimmed stubble and hums, deeply enough that he can feel it all the way down to his collarbone. “Just a minute.” He pulls away and Felix shivers, watching as he kicks off his jeans. He hesitates beside the couch, toying with the waistband of his briefs. “Should I take these off?”

“If you want to.” Felix struggles out of his shirt, which was still rucked up around his shoulders, and sits up, nudging his way to the edge of the couch so that Carver stands between his knees and he can put his hands proprietarily on Carver’s strong thighs. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

One side of Carver’s mouth turns up in a shy smile. “And you haven’t seen the entire package yet.”

“I’ve seen _some_ ,” Felix drawls. He tries not to stare directly— _his eyes are up there, Alexius_ —but it’s kind of hard not to when it’s right there in his face. “I’ve seen your arse many a time on a Tuesday morning. What is it with you Fereldans and Tuesdays?”

“Who knows. Phases of the moon, mabari blood… does things to us.” He reaches out, tentative, and his hand comes to rest against Felix’s skull, thumb caressing the shell of his ear. The gentle touch sends ripples of sensation down his spine and he shivers, leaning closer. “Fee…”

“Hmm?” His mouth is watering, but he resists the urge and kisses his hipbone instead, sharply exposed over the waistband of his smalls.

“D’you want to, um… move this to the bedroom?”

“Mmm. You sure know how to treat a man.”

“I would hope so,” Carver says, indignant and without guile. “I don’t want my first time with you to just be mindless rutting on the couch. I want it to be special.” Then he seems to reconsider, and he bites his lower lip. “If—is that all right with you?”

“Of course it’s all right.” Another kiss, and he drags himself away before his mouth goes any lower. He lifts his arms, and Carver obeys his silent request, pulling him up to stand flush together. “I’m just… not used to it.”

His eyes narrow. “Not used to what? Being treated with respect?”

“Being treated… like a lover,” Felix says hesitantly, feeling his way through the words with a clumsy tongue. “I’m accustomed to being a quick fuck. Not a lot of time for romance, generally.”

Carver’s brow furrows. He cups Felix’s face between his hands and pulls him closer still, bending to brush their noses together, then their mouths. “I’m going to treat you like a prince,” Carver whispers, utterly sincere. “It’s no less than you deserve.”

He’s never heard Carver speak this way before, but somehow it doesn’t come as a surprise. He’s always known that Carver has a big heart, even if it’s hard to detect under his natural bark and cynicism, and to hear that softness and tender spirit directed at him is like putting chocolate too near a flame. He kisses Carver quickly and pushes his face into his neck. “Stoppit.”

“Stop what?”

“Being so perfect. You’re making me go all gooey inside.”

Carver snickers, but his hands are soft and undemanding against his spine. “You sure that’s not the alcohol talking?”

“Is it for you?”

“The alcohol? No… maybe it’s making things a bit easier, but I’ve not said anything I don’t mean.” He kisses Felix’s brow. “I’m mostly sober now, anyway, but if you wanted to wait…”

He doesn’t want to wait. He wants Carver _now_ , and he wants to wake up beside him tomorrow morning and make him breakfast, and he wants to shower with him and spend the day fooling around on the couch, and do it all again the next day. “I want you,” he says softly, speaking into the hollow of his throat. “I want you so desperately. Truly. Honestly.”

“Shh, I believe you.” Carver takes his hand and kisses the knuckles, then the underside of his wrist, then bends down to kiss his shoulder. “Come to bed.”

They go to Felix’s room because it’s closer, and because he knows for sure he just made it up fresh the day before (and because he has all the supplies they’ll need within easy reach). Maybe also because he’s a bit of a control freak, but Carver doesn’t question it. In tandem they peel off the rest of their clothes; Felix leaves his jeans and briefs in a heap on the floor for just this once, too distracted by Carver’s naked body to be overly bothered.

A hand in the center of his chest and Carver is down on the mattress, letting himself be pressed down with his head on the pillow. Felix climbs over him, a little dazed. “You’re certainly… proportional.”

Carver blushes. “Is that okay?”

“Bloody hell, of _course_ it’s okay.” He lets himself stare, admiring the shape and girth, rubbing his thumb idly across his own lower lip as he imagines trying to fit it inside his mouth. “I can’t wait to see what it feels like inside me.”

Carver shudders and makes a small sound, a little _ngh_ deep in his throat, and Felix is gratified to see the flush in his face spreading to his chest. “Is that… what you want? Tonight, I mean.”

“It’s one possibility.” He strokes Carver’s belly, admiring the musculature, and leans forward, lowering himself until he’s stretched out against Carver’s flank and reveling in the smooth heat of his body. “Do you have any… expectations?”

Carver almost looks nervous. “What do you mean?”

“I know this is all sort of unexpected, but you can’t tell me you haven’t thought about this before. About what you would do if you ever got the chance.” He pets Carver’s chest, fascinated by the silky hair, and accidentally glances his fingertips off a nipple. Carver’s eyelids flicker. “Any fantasies? Anything you’ve always wanted to try?”

Carver licks his lips. “I was sort of hoping that it would… um… unfold naturally.” His hand is arm on Felix’s back, knuckles stroking up and down the hollow of his lumbar spine; Felix shifts upward on the next stroke, and Carver’s hand slides down to grip his arse. “Do _you_ have any expectations?”

“I suppose _expectations_ isn’t quite what I meant. I always find it makes things smoother and more comfortable if all parties are open with each other about their wants and needs beforehand.”

“Well. How’s this.” The hand on his arse moves, but not far, drawing feather-light circles across his sacrum as Carver stares him down with his sharp blue eyes. “I love you, Fee. Have done for a long time. And tonight I want to show you that, with my hands, my mouth. I want to find out what makes you tick, I want our bodies to come together in whatever way seems good and right, to explore each other and enjoy each other.” His other hand comes up and strokes Felix’s cheekbone, coaxing him down so that their lips brush together without really meeting. “Is that enough expectation for you?”

Felix’s heart is pounding so hard that he’s not sure he can even speak—or maybe that’s just all the blood rushing from his brain to his cock, prickling over the surface of his skin and lighting him on fire. “Please,” he whispers, and kisses him.

Some part of his mind is perfectly aware that he’s lost all control of the situation, but for once it isn’t bothered. If it were anyone else he would be having second thoughts by now, longing to have a clearer, more linear idea of what to expect, but this is _Carver_. His best friend since uni, his roommate, the man he’s been desperately in love with since before graduation a few years ago. Carver knows everything about him, has seen him at his worst and at his best. Carver has never been dismissive of his need to order his life; he’s even gone out of his way to make sure Felix is comfortable and happy, has done since the beginning. Felix trusts him, implicitly. He loves him. God, how he loves him.

Carver kisses like no one he’s ever kissed before. Deeply, hands everywhere, noises subdued in his chest but his breaths huffing hot and noisy from his nose, lips clinging whenever Felix draws away for a proper breath. Before he knows it he’s straddling Carver’s lap, dicks brushing as he bends and mouths at Carver’s collarbones. They have excellent definition, especially when he strains upward like this, begging, and Felix bites down on one just enough to leave a red smudge behind when he pulls away.

Carver gasps like the breath has been punched out of him and grips Felix’s thighs where they’re spread wide around Carver’s waist. “You can do that again.”

Felix nibbles, leaves a kiss behind. “Like this?”

Carver licks his lips. “Harder.”

Felix finds a nice spot above his collarbone, right in the meat of his thick, sturdy shoulder, and bites down. Hard. Sucks the skin and swirls his tongue around, after, and dives back in when Carver whispers _more_. When he’s done there’s a dark, blotchy bruise mottling Carver’s paper-white skin, fading to pink around the edges. He strokes the circumference with his thumb and feels fiercely protective.

“You’re mine. _Only_ mine.”

“Yours,” Carver agrees breathlessly, hips moving restlessly underneath him. It’s like riding an energetic stallion he can’t quite keep under control, and he thinks he likes it.

“Hold that thought,” he says, and rolls off him to reach inside the bedside drawer for the lube. His favorite toy is resting innocently beside it, a thick vibrating dildo that has always done wonders for soothing his pent-up sexual frustration in the past, and he spares a fond thought for it as he returns to his spot on top of Carver. _I have the real thing now… but I wonder how Carver would like to have it inside him while I sit on his cock?_ It’s a pleasant thought, but maybe an endeavor for another day when he’s feeling more coordinated and less… spontaneous.

“How do you want me?” Carver asks, eyes pinned to the bottle in his hand.

“Mmm. You misunderstand.” He bends down and kisses him thoroughly, pressing the lube into his hand. “This is for you. To use on me. Is that okay?”

When he pulls back, Carver’s pupils have blown wide and two spots of feverish color burn high in his clean-shaven cheeks. “Yeah. God, yeah, that’s more than okay. You sure?”

“Absolutely.” His teeth worry briefly at his lower lip and he leans closer to confess, “I’ve dreamed of having your cock inside me for years.”

Carver shivers under him. “I hope I can live up to the expectation.”

“You don’t have to _live up_ to anything,” Felix tells him softly. “It’s you. It’s always been you.” He kisses him before he can speak, tongues flirting and withdrawing again. “I’m going to turn around, all right? I’m gonna bend over and suck your pretty cock while you open me up, and then I’m going to ride you until my legs burn.” He takes a breath, struggling to maintain his calm, gentle tone of voice at the raw need evidenced in Carver’s face. “And then if we’re still going I want you to put me on my back and fuck me until I can’t see straight.”

“God, love,” Carver breathes. “Yes, absolutely, anything.”

Flushed with heat and promise, Felix arranges himself so that Carver’s erection is nearly poking his eye out and his arse is in easy reach of Carver’s thick, clever fingers. He’s suddenly very glad he took extra care with cleanliness and prep earlier before going out. Initially it had been in the hope of securing a warm body for the night, someone to take his mind off the sweet, unattainable smile Carver was wafting about the club, but now it’s become a blessing. _The real thing_ , he muses again, taking hold of Carver’s prick and stroking the base, angling it toward his mouth.

He’s quite good at sucking cock, and he’s never been more grateful for that skill than right now. Carver _is_ proportional, thick enough around that he’s having trouble closing his thumb to his fingers, and long enough that he knows it’ll take some practice getting it in all the way even with his level of experience. The tattooed bloke from last week—who did, admittedly, have a Hawke-ish air about him with his pale coloring and easy smile—had been big, but nothing compared to this. He bends his head and noses along the base, breathing in the clean musk and glancing his lips off the head, testing. Carver’s already leaking considerably, and he licks his lips in anticipation for the main event.

Wet pressure distracts him from his goal, and he yelps when he realizes he isn’t feeling fingers between his cheeks, but a tongue. Warm and leisurely, Carver lays open-mouthed kisses up his perineum and over his hole, fingers digging into his thighs to spread him wider. Felix drops his head to Carver’s hipbone and groans, pushing his arse back without shame.

“Carv, are you—hngg, oh fuck, do that again.”

Behind him comes a low, rumbling chuckle that he can feel all through his body where their bellies are pressed together. “If you’re asking whether I’m sure… I’m sure,” Carver says, voice slightly muffled. Felix feels a thumb parting him wider, rubbing over his hole before his mouth is back in place, flicking teasingly and withdrawing again. “You gonna suck my cock or are you just gonna sit there? Not that I mind,” Carver amends, but it ends in a choked sort of noise as Felix takes the head of his cock in his mouth.

It sits against his tongue a moment, fat and slick, and he sucks lightly as he figures out the right angle to avoid his teeth. When he’s got the hang of it, he lets go of the base, trailing his knuckles up and down the underside as he plays with the first few inches. Behind him, Carver moans into his arse, kisses growing sloppy as Felix wears down his self-control; determined to make him lose it entirely, Felix tightens his hand and sinks down a little further, flirting with his gag reflex. He can fit about half of him in his mouth like this, and he reckons with some practice he could get him down his throat—but that’s for another day.

“Finger me,” he rasps, coughing a little to clear his throat. He presses his tongue into the slit and rolls Carver’s bollocks in his hand, anticipation tingling down his spine with the click of the lube bottle. A moment later, he feels two fingers trailing slickly up and down his crack before sinking in slowly, one at a time, implacable. He kisses the shaft and buries his face in the crease where Carver’s thigh meets his torso, moaning unintelligibly.

“Good?” comes Carver’s voice, a little bit shaky. Felix can only nod, but he seems to understand anyway. “God, you should see this. The view is fucking incredible.” Agonizingly slow, he twists his fingers out and presses back in again, massaging his insides until he finds the little spot inside him that makes every muscle lock up and his pelvis burn with need.

“Fuck,” he blurts into Carver’s hipbone. He squeezes the soft, tender flesh of his inner thigh and tries to breathe. “God, fuck that feels amazing.”

With his free hand, Carver tugs clumsily at his thigh. “Can you… can you sit up, baby? I want you to sit on my fingers.”

Shaking, feeling like his limbs are made of soft rubber, Felix pushes himself upright and rolls his arse back against Carver’s hand. He looks down at his fingers spread over Carver’s hips for stability, so brown against his pale stomach, and shudders. “Nngh. Fucking… _yes_. There. Right there.”

Carver’s breath rasps against the small of his back and a large, calloused hand snakes around his waist to flatten itself against Felix’s belly. As he watches, chin bent to his sternum in concentration, the shift of his hips brings his cock in contact with the back of Carver’s hand, smearing a little bit of precum against the skin. Carver’s knuckles whiten. “Can I…”

“Please. Fuck. Please, Carver, please touch me.”

In an instant Carver’s hand is wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly with the rhythm of Felix’s hips. Carver inside him, Carver around him… he stares at Carver’s prick, bouncing against his navel with every stroke, and draws a shuddering breath.

“I want you,” he whispers, and Carver’s fingers press deeper into his body.

“I can’t hear you, love,” Carver says quietly. “What did you say?”

Felix head arches back, turning his spine into one long, needy curve. “Want you. Please. I’m ready.”

With apparent reluctance, Carver releases his cock and cups his thigh instead, coaxing him up from where he’s seated on Carver’s sternum. “Turn around, sweet thing. Are you… was that enough? Do you need more?” He scissors his fingers open in demonstration, dragging them out slowly, and Felix gasps as another bead of precum slides down his shaft.

“It’s fine, I—um. I can take it. Just go slowly.” Shaking a bit, he turns clumsily until he’s sitting across Carver’s hips, facing him now, hands going automatically to the swell of his pectorals. He thumbs Carver’s nipples and nudges back until he feels the bump of Carver’s prick against his arse. Carver grips his hips, wide-eyed and flushed, a curl of dark hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead.

“Are—do you want to use a condom? I mean I’m—I haven’t been tested recently but I haven’t been with anyone in… God, years.” His face scrunches up like he wants to hide it behind his hands, but he can’t bear to let go of Felix’s hips. “I’m sorry in advance if I’m terrible at this.”

“Shush.” Felix puts a finger to his lips, first to hush him, then to slip inside and tease the tip of his tongue. Carver smirks and sucks a bit before releasing him. “This is amazing, you’re amazing. I can’t…” He shudders and bends in half, letting his fat cock rub against his hole while he kisses Carver’s smiling mouth. “I can’t bear it. Please. Darling…”

“Shh, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” Biting his lower lip in concentration, Carver spreads Felix wide with one hand and guides his cock with the other, just rubbing the head against his hole for a moment or two. “At your own pace, love.”

“Wait.” When Carver moves to pull his hands away, Felix grabs one and puts it back on his arse. “No, it’s fine, it’s just…” He leans down, braced shakily on his elbows, and brushes their mouths together. “I love you. I wanted you to know.”

Carver’s smile is a bit wobbly. He cranes upward for another kiss, soft and shallow. “I know. I know, and it’s the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Felix shudders and buries his face in Carver’s neck for a moment. Then, gathering himself, he sits up and lets Carver guide him down to sit on his cock. It’s a slow process, at first; just getting the head inside takes time, but Carver is patient, stroking his chest with his free hand and murmuring endearments, telling him how beautiful he is and how good he makes him feel. Then the rest follows. He keeps his eyes closed for most of it, too overwhelmed to take in the extra stimuli, but when it’s done and he’s sitting on Carver’s hips, flushed and trembling and full of him, he opens his eyes and nearly finds release right then. Carver’s eyes are so soft and yearning, his slack mouth so full of awe—Felix blushes deeper and rocks his hips, aching.

“All right?” Carver whispers, cupping his cheek. Felix nods.

“It’s just… more than I expected.” Gingerly, he rises just a little and sinks back down. Carver’s prick fills him so completely—he’s only a little thicker than his favorite toy, but he’s definitely longer. “I’m definitely going to feel it tomorrow. I don’t mind,” he adds hastily when Carver’s brow furrows with concern. “I love it. I just… would you help me?” He takes his hands, so much bigger than Felix’s own, and positions them on his hips. Carver squeezes gently.

“Like this?” With utmost care, he guides Felix forward and back again, more of a rocking motion than an up and down.

“Yeah… mmf. That’s perfect.”

It’s not the fierce pounding he’d imagined when he first whispered the idea in Carver’s ear, but this is better. With his hands braced on Carver’s chest and Carver’s hands setting the pace, he’s free to enjoy the sensations sparking through him like fireworks on a dark night. Free to revel in the sounds Carver makes, so unashamed, grunts and gasps, and eventually the soft smack of skin meeting skin when he rocks up to meet Felix’s thrusts.

“God, look at you,” Carver breathes, and Felix whines, desperate.

He leans forward for a better angle, fingers making fists in the sheets to either side of Carver’s head. His mouth is hanging open and sweat is trickling down his temple, but he doesn’t care how unflattering it is; Carver is too beautiful like this for him to care what his own face looks like, his mouth all cherry-red and his throat and chest flaming pink as he fucks him harder. Felix spreads his thighs as wide as they’ll go and holds himself there, arms trembling as he lets Carver take over the pace. The rhythm threatens to dislodge him from his perch, but he clings all the tighter as the shush of their bodies moving becomes louder, slapping, wet, and every stroke slams perfectly into Felix’s prostate.

He tries to hold back, but he can’t help it—his swallowed groans escape as the pressure mounts inside him, garbled and tripping over each other until he’s cursing and crying out, voice broken into pieces as he’s driven closer to the edge. Desperate, he grabs hold of Carver’s hair with one hand and wrenches him up for a biting, slapdash kiss.

“Fuck,” he blurts, and then the damn is broken and the words spill out of him in a rush: “God, yes, fuck me— _oh Jesus fucking Christ_ , Carver, _yes_!”

“Can we switch,” Carver gasps, fingers clumsy on his spread thighs. Felix can only nod, beyond speech, and goes easily as a limp rag when Carver takes hold of him and spills him over onto his back. His cock has slipped out in the process, and Felix draws his knees back wide to make room for his bulk. Carver swoops down, kissing him sloppily, mouthing at his throat as he guides himself back in and finds his rhythm.

Felix shuts his eyes and reaches up, under the scrunched-up pillows to grab hold of the headboard. It’s the only thing grounding him now—he feels like he’s floating, detached from the real world, held aloft by Carver’s hands and breath and the smell of his sweat. “I fucking love you,” he breathes into the void, and Carver’s mouth finds his, exhaling, lips glancing off one another in a wild parody of a kiss as their bodies tighten, tighten, and release.

Felix shouts when he comes, hollering to the ceiling, tingling all the way down to his toes. Carver slows, threatening to stop altogether, but Felix finds the wherewithal to grab his nape and grind out, “ _Don’t fucking stop_ ,” and after that it’s only a few more seconds and he’s following, teeth pressed into Felix’s sternum and his hips circling to a gradual, stuttering stop. In the aftermath, the silence is nearly overwhelming. He hadn’t noticed the mattress creaking until it stopped, or the deafening sound of their coupling until Carver finally slowed and came to a sweating, panting standstill. He wonders idly if the neighbors heard, and decides in the very same moment that he doesn’t care. It’s fucking Valentine’s Day. They can live with it.

Atop him, Carver slumps, curling over his belly with his knees still tucked under Felix’s thighs. Felix curls a toe, rubbing his flank, and tangles his fingers in Carver’s sweat-drenched hair. He can feel his heart still slamming against his chest as if attempting escape, and the sweat is cooling on his body, making him shiver wherever their bodies don’t touch.

“Darling,” he whispers, hoarse. Christ, he really must have been screaming. “All right?”

Carver grunts and rubs his nose into Felix’s ribs. “I feel like I should be asking _you_ that question,” he croaks. With heavy-lidded eyes, he looks up. Felix’s heart stops for a moment and starts up again, almost quicker than before. “Are you?”

“Fine. Glorious.” He wipes a beat of moisture from Carver’s brow. “You?”

“Amazing.” He huffs a breath, ticklish, and sits back on his heels with a grimace. “Christ, I’m going to be sore in the morning.”

Felix snorts even as he admires Carver’s prick, starting to soften but still an impressive size. “ _You’re_ going to be sore, hmm?”

Guilt flashes across Carver’s face, and he bends to kiss one of his turned-up knees, slowly lowering them until Felix is stretched out across the mattress like so much useless putty. “I’m sorry, love. Here, I’ll get us cleaned up, just wait here a minute.”

He disappears before Felix can protest, listing a bit as he slips through the door to the bathroom. Water runs briefly, and when he returns his hair has been slicked back and his prick wiped clean, and he’s carrying a fresh, damp flannel. Felix lets his legs splay open and holds still, only blushing a little as Carver cleans him up tenderly. Afterward he drops a kiss on his forehead and lets himself be drawn back into bed.

“You a cuddler?” he murmurs, sounding not at all put off by this fact.

“Of course. Aren’t you?”

“Mmm.” Carver nuzzles the side of his face, rubs his mouth over the stubble on Felix’s jaw before kissing him softly. “Very much so. Oof.”

“What?”

Carver rolls away a moment and reaches under his back, coming up with the forgotten bottle of lube. “That’s not much fun to lay on.” And before Felix can offer to put it back, he’s leaning across the bed and opening the drawer himself. He pauses. Felix covers his face with his hands, already knowing what he’s going to say. “You have a giant purple penis in your bedside table, did you know?”

Felix chokes. “It’s a dildo.”

“Yes I know, but why is it purple?”

“It was the only color available in that size at the time.”

“Hmmm. No wonder you didn’t need much prep.” He drops the lube inside and shuts the drawer, and when he returns to the pillow and pulls Felix’s hands away from his face, he’s smiling wickedly. “I don’t suppose you’d like to teach me how to take it?”

Felix exhales shakily. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very impressive in comparison.”

“What do you—oh, for heaven’s sake.” He slides the flat of his palm down across Felix’s thigh, knuckles brushing his cock where it lies flaccid and somewhat… underwhelming. “You’re perfect. We can’t all be porn-star sized.” He winks, and Felix groans.

“Yes, we can’t all be so lucky.” He leans up, silently asking, and Carver readily drops a kiss on his mouth that turns from brief to slow and deep and agonizingly sweet. “I mean that honestly,” he whispers when they part with a soft wet sound. He grins and wriggles against him, slipping one thigh between Carver’s. “I’m going to feel that fuck for _days_ , and it’s going to be wonderful.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Carver sucks briefly on his lower lip, smirking. Then his smile softens. “You’ll tell me, won’t you, if it’s ever too much? I’ve… had some unfortunate experiences in the past, I wouldn’t want to repeat any of them.”

“Experiences?”

“The first girl I slept with, um, decided halfway through that it was too much and made me leave. So I learned to be careful, but then I tried sleeping with a guy for the first time and it was… just awkward and horrible. So.” He’s flushing, with embarrassment now rather than arousal, and Felix wraps his arms spontaneously around his neck to draw him close.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, sincerely. “I promise I’ll tell you, all right? And we can try other things, or other ways of…” His voice fails him momentarily—how absurd, he all but screamed the word _fuck_ several times over the past twenty minutes. “Making love?” he ventures at last, and Carver smiles.

“Was that a statement or a question?”

“I… don’t know.”

“Mmm.” Carver snuggles in close, brushing his fingers across Felix’s short hair to cup his head; their noses brush together and Felix gives a shaky sigh. “I want to make love with you every day for the rest of our lives, if that’s all right.”

Felix buries his head in Carver’s shoulder. “That’s more than all right.”

“It’s not too fast?”

“God, no. I’ve been quietly loving you from a distance for far too long.” He kisses Carver’s throat and pulls back to look him in the eye. “I want to love you up close, now.”

“Good.” Carver smiles, and it’s like the sun rising. “I want that too.”


End file.
